


Niche

by Pouler (poulerslashes)



Series: Family Headcanon Theatre [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Family Headcanons, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:04:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poulerslashes/pseuds/Pouler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Asahi tries various sports clubs with limited success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Niche

When Asahi was six, his mom and dad signed him up for the swim club. “It will help you gain confidence,” his father said. “It worked well for Jun.”

Asahi’s mother filled out the form at the club and told him, “make friends, my love.” She kissed him on both cheeks – And Then She Left Him There.

Asahi had frozen the moment the instructor tried to help him into the water – “We’ll do this together,” the instructor said with an encouraging smile, “I won’t let go.” But Asahi had quailed, clung to the stepladder of the shallow end, and started to cry.

He was sitting in the viewing room when Jun came to pick him up an hour later, drinking from a juice box and watching the other children in the pool through glass. “Did you even try it?” Jun sighed in exasperation. He held out his hand and Asahi took it, and he didn’t let go for the entire way home.

At seven, Takeshi convinced him to try out for the baseball club. “It’s not like swimming,” he said. “You’ll like it.” But the other kids were huge, and they got angry when he flinched and closed his eyes when he tried to catch the ball.

In the end, the coach had taken him aside and said, as nicely as he could manage, “You know, Azumane, the school has a lot of clubs that might suit you better. Have you thought about the art club?” Asahi heard the other kids sniggering behind him, and he’d just nodded miserably, flushed with humiliation.

When Takeshi came to walk him home after practice, he’d taken one look at the devastated tears on Asahi’s face and had grimaced. “Well, baseball is stupid anyway,” he’d said, and he bought Asahi ice cream on the way home.

"Did you like hitting the ball?" Jun asked him that night at the dinner table, "did you like running?"

"Jun, he’s just fine," his mother chided. "Leave him alone."

"He’s never gonna do anything at this rate!" Jun said irritably.

"Brother, shut up," Takeshi said.

"I just want him to get out there a little more!" Jun continued.

"Jun," their father said, and that was the end of it.

That night, as Asahi’s mom was helping him get ready for bed, his father came into the room. “I’ll take it from here,” he said. “I’d like to talk to him a little.”  
  
Asahi would remember a long time the feeling of nervousness tangling around in his tummy. His dad was tall – incredibly, monstrously tall – sharp featured and gray. He’d always been cool and stiff, in direct opposition to Asahi’s affectionate mother. Asahi looked at his mom imploringly, but she just smiled at him. “Alright, dear,” she said. She was not a short woman, but she had to stand on her toes to kiss Asahi’s father on the cheek before she left the room.

They stood together the in room silently, Asahi barefooted in his pajamas, his father still and imposing.

At length, his father said, “Would you like a story?”

Asahi looked at his feet and nodded. Together they picked out a book, and his father sat the the edge of the bed and read it in an eloquent monotone, like a news presenter on TV. It wasn’t like with his mom, who curled up with him and tried different voices – but really, it wasn’t bad.

"So, Asahi," his father said as he finished a chapter and closed the book, "tell me what happened today." The next day, when Asahi signed up for the art club, his brothers were not allowed to say a word about it.

The next year, when Asahi was eight, he joined track and field. He liked sprinting, and the relay was his favorite, though he tired quickly on the long distance events. It went fairly well for awhile, until he saw a professional event on television and noted the high jump was even taller than his father. He’d been shaken by the thought and began to perform poorly.  
  
"You don’t have to do the high jump, dummy," Takeshi told him after a few weeks. "They don’t even do it at all in elementary school."

It made him feel a little better, and he stuck it out the rest of the year, but he didn’t stay on the team after that.

In successive years he had short bouts with tennis (the balls were too fast, the racket unwieldy) and soccer (one nasty fall and a fractured arm had cut his season short). Basketball he’d liked best, since he enjoyed jumping and scoring, but he found dribbling near impossible, so that option was out.

"Maybe it’s art club again this year?" his mom had said when he came home after the third day of sixth grade.

Asahi shook his head. There was another club to try.

The next day, Takeshi visited to see how his middle school was working out. It was the same one Takeshi and Jun had gone to.

Asahi told him, “Volleyball. I like volleyball.”

"It’s been one practice, Asahi," Takeshi said, "maybe you should–"

"I  _really_  like volleyball,” Asahi said, and he tore into his dinner with gusto.

He was oblivious to the look that had passed around the table. Asahi’s father, home only rarely now since taking the job in the city, allowed one of his uncommon, tight-lipped smiles. “Well,” he said, “volleyball is alright, I suppose.”


End file.
